Foxes had always hitherto been preserved in Trumpeton
Wood, and the earths had always been stopped on receipt of due notice
by the keepers. During the cubbing season there had arisen quarrels.
The keepers complained that no effort was made to kill the foxes.
Lord Chiltern swore that the earths were not stopped. Then there came
tidings of a terrible calamity. A dying fox, with a trap to its pad,
was found in the outskirts of the Wood; and Lord Chiltern wrote to
the Duke. He drew the Wood in regular course before any answer could
be received,--and three of his hounds picked up poison, and died
beneath his eyes. He wrote to the Duke again,--a cutting letter; and
then came from the Duke's man of business, Mr. Fothergill, a very
short reply, which Lord Chiltern regarded as an insult. Hitherto the
affair had not got into the sporting papers, and was simply a matter
of angry discussion at every meet in the neighbouring counties. Lord
Chiltern was very full of wrath, and always looked as though he
desired to avenge those poor hounds on the Duke and all belonging to
him.
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